Scarlett P.O.V

Rococo, my German shepherd, sits on his hind legs beside me while I lock up my apartment. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and his tail lightly thumps against the floor as he patiently waits.

"Come on, baby." I urge with a tug of his leash when I'm through, leading him down the hall.

Just as we're nearing Maddox's apartment, his door flies open. He steps out a second later in black joggers and a white wife beater holding a silver bowl with a wooden spoon sticking out.

"Where are you going?" He asks, looking down at me from his nose. His muscles flexing as he whips the spoon around the bowl.

For a moment, I'm at a loss for words. Hypnotized by the dark swirls inked into his hard left bicep as they move along with him.

Sweet Jesus. I'd forgotten how built he was. Or rather, I'd blocked it out for the good of our friendship and...my sanity. But with him standing on display for my eyes, I couldn't ignore it.

A hand waving in front of my face drags my attention away. "Hello? Scarlett?"

My eyes snap up to meet Maddox's. "Huh?"

"I asked where are you going?"

"Oh, uh...Where does it look like?" I raise my hand up and down twice, motioning to my light pink joggers and matching top. "To take Rococo for a run."

He steps forward until we're stood toe to toe. My heart rate soars at his sudden closeness and the freshly clean scent wafting from his warm skin.

"Is that a good idea in your condition?" He asks, his voice low as he gently touches the back of my ponytail, fingertips grazing the spot where I'd hit my head.

I softly chuckle and step back, out of his reach, needing the space to clear my head. "M-m-my condition?"

"Yes." He says with a stone-faced seriousness that only makes me laugh harder. "It's barely been a day since you were hurt."

"It was only a bump on the head, Maddox. I didn't have brain surgery, for god sakes. Stop treating me like I'm glass. I'm not going to break."

"Alright, fine. I'll ease up. But you uh..." He sniffs and glances down the hall.

"What?"

"You shouldn't run on an empty stomach." He says it with enough conviction that it takes me slightly aback. Of all the things I'd expected him to say, that hadn't been it.

"Wh-"

Rococo gives two short barks.

"See, Rococo agrees with me." He says, pointing the end of his batter-covered spoon at him. "And you can't argue against that. So come on, I'm making pancakes."

My traitorous stomach gives a low rumble at the promise of pancakes that doesn't go unnoticed by Maddox. He smiles crookedly and without another word, turns and heads into his apartment. His bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor with every step. I stand there, silently staring after him for a few seconds before a soft whine sounds below.

My eyes swing toward Rococo.

E tu?

He cocks his head to the side, big brown eyes looking up at me while softly panting.

"Alright, alright," I grumble, reluctantly following Maddox inside.

And as soon as I close the door, he grabs my hand, leads me over to the couch, and pushes me down with a hand on my shoulder.

"This won't take long." He says while I unclip Rococo's leash. And once he's free, he curls up on the leather couch beside me, his favorite spot whenever he's here.

"I'll take him for a run when I'm through while you just sit back and relax." Maddox continues, setting the television remote on my lap.

"Okay. Sounds good to me."

It sounded more than good, to be honest. And more like a blessing in disguise. Shoot, if he wants to take Rococo for a walk and cook me breakfast, he won't get one complaint from me.

I turn on the television and tuck my legs underneath myself, getting more comfortable while he goes to the kitchen.

The sound of banging pots comes from the other room while I flip through channel after channel, not finding anything interesting to watch. After a solid minute of searching, I give up and join Maddox in the kitchen.

"Hey, you're supposed to be relaxing!" Maddox says as soon as I step foot through the door.

"How can I relax with all this racket you're making?" My eyes slowly travel across the kitchen. Half the cabinets are open with their contents lining the white countertops.

"Oh, sorry. I can't find the frying pan."

"Where did you put it?"

"Where I usually put it. In the cabinet next to the sink. But it's not there." He runs his hands over his head, eyes darting about the mess. "Francesca must've moved it when she stayed over the other night."

I hum, ignoring the sharp pain in my chest at the mention of her, and open one of the cabinets farthest to the left of the kitchen sink. "Here it is."

"Ah, thank you." He takes the pan, rinses it in the sink before setting it on the stove.

"Is there anything else you need me to find?"

He chuckles. "Nah, you can rest now. I got it from here."

"Okay." Instead of returning to the living room, I sit on one of the high back stools at the kitchen island, crossing my legs.

"But I did want to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

He cuts a bit of butter and places it in the pan. "I think you should move those files from your apartment."

"Why?"

"You heard what Officer Ambrose said. They could come back."

"Yeah, to my office. Not to my house. They don't even know they're there. And it's not like the cops are going to tell them."

"They don't have to." He picks up the bowl full of batter and pours it into the pan in three medium-sized circles. "Let's say- heaven forbid, by the way- that they break into your office again and don't find what they're looking for. Where do you think they're coming next?"

I stay quiet, my eyes slowly falling to the pan as bubbles form along the edges of the batter. And that seems to be more than enough answer for Maddox.

"Exactly! It's not safe."

"Okay, you have a point." I begrudgingly admit, sitting forward with my arms crossed on the counter. "But I live next to a private investigator, have a seventy-pound guard dog, and if all else fails, there's George. It can't get any safer than that."

"George?" His brow scrunches as he grabs the spatula. "You mean our sixty-year-old doorman that just had a hip replacement?"

Looking off to the side while gently rubbing the hairs at my nape, I lowly say, "Yes."

"He ain't catching shit!"

"You never know." I pause as the kitchen door inches open, and Rococo comes through. His tail rapidly wags as he carries his bright blue food dish over to me and sets it at my feet. Smiling, I pick it up and go over to the pantry, filling it with the kibbles Maddox kept handy just for him. "He might." I finish, carrying the bowl back over to Rococo.

"Come on, Scarlett. Be real."

"Okay, okay." I set the bowl down, and he digs in straight away, gobbling it down while I retake my seat. "Honestly, I was thinking about that too. But I really don't want to go through the trouble of renting a storage space just for files."

"You don't have to rent a space." He goes to the fridge, pulls out a bowl of strawberries, and sets them next to the cutting board. "Just keep them here or in my office. And you can drop by anytime you need to."

My phone beeps, notifying me of an incoming text.

"Thanks, Maddox. I really appreciate the offer, but that still seems a little excessive. Don't worry. I'll figure something out." I say, sliding my phone out of my pocket and checking it.

Luciano: How's your head?

I start to type out a response but stop with my hand hovering in midair over the screen at Maddox's question.

"Luciano? Who's that?" He asks, leaning over the island.

"Ugh, excuse you!" I pull my phone closer to my chest. "Don't be looking at my texts."

"I wasn't. I just happened to see it when I was reaching for th-th-" he stammers, pretending to scratch his cheek as he looks discreetly around.

"The what?"

"The plate." He grabs the plate next to me and gives it a little wave.

"Uh-huh. Well, if you must know, nosy. It's the guy I introduced to you at my office."

He stares blankly at me. And unsure if he's serious or not, I further elaborate. "You know...the one that was with me during the burglary."

"Oh, the one that can't take a punch." He pops a strawberry into his mouth, a smile playing on his lips. "Where did you even meet that guy?"

"At my office when he helped me change my tire, then again at Oscar's party."

He flattens his palms on the countertop and looks at me with his head cocked. "Seriously, Scarlett? Since when do you need help fixing a tire?"

"Never. But he offered, so I accepted."

He doesn't say anything for a solid minute as he sets a few strawberries on the cutting board and carefully slices them. "What's so special about him you're acting all helpless for?"

"He's hot and single," I say just to irk him, and boy does it work. A loud thwack fills the room as he misses the strawberry he's cutting and hits the board.

"Scarlett?!" He lays down the knife eyes, burning a hole in the top of my head.

I slowly lift my head with the utmost innocent expression on my face. "Yes?"

"Y-y-you..." He sighs. "Just be careful."